


A Spark in Time

by nonx



Category: Original Work
Genre: Captivity, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Stockholm Syndrome, Superpowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-26 20:09:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12066090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonx/pseuds/nonx
Summary: Andrew gets them lover’s rings, steel pieces that probably came from the power bands around his wrists. The ring buzzes with power every time it shifts on Kyle’s finger.





	A Spark in Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the_rck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_rck/gifts).



Andrew gets them lover’s rings, steel pieces that probably came from the power bands around his wrists. The ring buzzes with power every time it shifts on Kyle’s finger.

The rings have an intricate knot stamped upon them, finer work that Kyle has ever seen before. The knots generally signify the loss of virginity and the tying of two people. Kyle thinks it might mean something a little different, for them. For him.

Andrew has taken Kyle a few times more since the first night, laid him out in the rug in front of the fireplace and spread him open. He fucked Kyle gently, but however and whenever he fancies: on all fours, with knees scraping on the rough floor as he draped all over Kyle; water dripping in from droplets from Andre’s wet hair after he came in from the bath and found Kyle curled up asleep in one corner; and this morning, when Kyle had woken up to a lazy leg pushing between his thighs and a hot mouth on his neck as Andrew hummed behind him, content, pushing in.

Kyle’s here to be fucked. He gets that now. He’s here to keep Andrew’s bed warm, and to spread his legs and pant against Andrew’s skin whenever Andrew wants. He wasn’t put to death on the ritual slab or spread for twenty others in the league when he was captured, but he’s Andrew’s, through and through.

* * *

 

“Well, he’s very pretty,” BlackBird says. He stands right in front of Kyle, his hips level with Kyle’s eyes, and his hand grips Kyle’s hair and tils his head back, revealing his throat for any bastard present to slit. Kyle’s knees dig into the floor, his hair grabbed back and his mouth obscenely open, as he tries to gulp in air and find balance. It’s difficult.

“Beneath that mask, who knew?” says another man behind BlackBird— _Lughnasa_ , Kyle’s mind supplies, the one who controls the winds. The one who brought down Kyle's plane, mere hours ago. Kyle can barely see him peer over his face. “He’s an elemental, isn’t he? He’d be a fantastic sacrifice.”

The words are a croon, and they are ice to Kyle’s blood.

“No,” he hears somebody say.  

The word hangs in silence, for a second. Kyle feels the hand on his hair tighten.

“No?” BlackBird repeats, incredulously. If not for the weight on his hair and ice in his belly, Kyle might agree. He remembers BlackBird as the leader of this lot.

“He’s mine,” the voice announces, and Kyle feels the air shift as footsteps come nearer.

“Not even you, Aftershock,” protests BlackBird, but he’s let go of Kyle’s hair, now.

Kyle folds forward, coughing hard, trying to get more oxygen into his body. When he looks up, bleary-eyed from the tears leaking out of him, he sees a tall man stare down at him, static energy cackling around him and a mask firmly over his eyes. Only the glint of the white of his eyes can be seen as he kneels in front of Kyle.

“No,” BlackBird says, again, but two men have come up to flank the man, and the protest is weaker. The new man doesn’t even bother looking back at him, but instead leans forward, to look right into Kyle’s eyes. The unseen force that presses around Kyle is familiar, as Kyle remembers facing this man, in a battle before.

Kyle just has enough time to remember, _Aftershock_ , the magician with earthquake powers, before he’s casually pushed, sprawled onto the ground. He tries to get up, but a hand presses down on the crown of his head and keeps it pressed, even as his lower body is pulled out from underneath him in a more comfortable position. More open position.

Kyle is head-down and ass-up. He eats some of the dirt and chokes. The hand on the back of his head strokes him, almost gently, but briefly, before it finds his nape and presses down there. Kyle couldn’t get up even if he wanted, and he doesn’t even know if he wants to.

* * *

 

Kyle’s own powers don’t help, not against Aftershock. For all the fire that he controls, he finds that being locked up in a tightly magically-controlled environment with no chance to summon a nearby fire to his fingertips is a great disadvantage. After many nights of trying, he learns to take his frustration and anger out in other meaningful ways.

“I wish you wouldn’t take the ring off,” Aftershock says. He picks it up from the floor, mingled with the blood where Kyle had managed to tear it off for now. He presses a quick kiss on the ring, then approaches Kyle, ignoring Kyle’s flinch. He presses another kiss on Kyle’s fingers, quick magic fixing up the wounds there, and slides it back home.

“I wish you’d let me go,” Kyle says, tiredly, afterwards, naked and sweaty, and in Aftershock’s arms. He doesn’t have to strength to push him off, not anymore.

Aftershock doesn’t bother answering, just presses a kiss on the back of his neck. He pushes himself up on his elbow, so he can look down on Kyle, the mask still over his face. It’s got some kind of magic; Kyle cannot tell, even a little bit, what Aftershock looks like. Whether he’s old, or young. Whether he’s smug, or unhappy, about the whole thing.

* * *

 

“What’s the fucking point?” Kyle asks, when it has been so long, he cannot even remember the touch of flames on his fingertips, the feeling of fire around him. He’s not—

Aftershock hesitates, in the middle of taking his cloak off. He turns around to face Kyle. “The point?” he asks.

—“I’m not Inferno, anymore,” Kyle says. He’s too tired to sound tired.

Aftershock simply stands there, for long seconds. Then he slowly starts to take off his clothes, as always. Kyle puts his head back, and closes his eyes. He expects to be turned around, to be rutted against like a dog, to feel the warmth on his back as Aftershock takes him, as always. Kyle has lost this battle, this war, not when he’d lost to BlackBird and his crew, but when he’d been on his knees, and Aftershock had looked up and saw him there.

But then he feels the fingers touching his cheek, and he opens his eyes. A human face greets his gaze. A face that Kyle could recognize, not just grasp blindly at, hindered by magic. Green eyes meet Kyle’s gaze. Under the mask, under the power bands on his wrists that had so pressured Kyle, is a young man, around Kyle’s age.

“Oh,” Kyle says.

* * *

 

Before Kyle was Inferno, he was in high school. He didn’t have too many friends. But he had his headphones and his notebook, and he used to go up to the roof of the high school building and listen to music. Write stuff down. Wait for the moon to come out.

Sometimes there were other students on the roof, too. There was one in particular, who used to sit around Kyle, who used to side-eye Kyle, freckles on his cheeks and a nervous tongue on his lips. Near the end, he would sit close by Kyle. One night, just one night, Kyle lent him his headphones, and they sat there, tugging the headphones back and forth together, listening to the same songs. It was the night before graduation.

There was one wet moonlit kiss, Kyle remembers, before Kyle had to leave for patrol. Then the Dr. Phoenix fiasco happened, and he’d never gone back to the school. He never met anyone from high school again, let alone the boy with freckles who’d given him that one sweet kiss. He’d never gone looking, either. He’s not sure how he would have, even.

But the boy’s name, Kyle remembers, was Andrew.

 

* * *

 

“You know me, though,” Andrew says. The freckles across his cheeks are still the same.

“Yes,” Kyle says.

“Does it make a difference?” Andrew asks, hesitantly, and reaches a hand out. “Who I am, underneath?”

Kyle means to say, _no_. He truly does. But he opens his mouth, and the ring tingles on his finger. He looks into Andrew’s eyes, whose colors he never could tell when Andrew was wearing Aftershock’s mask. He thinks about having this information against Aftershock, against Andrew, even if he no longer has any way of using it. He has control back, if only a minute amount, in his life. Over Andrew.

“Yes,” Kyle says.

Andrew smiles, at that, a tentative happy smile, and Kyle thinks, _I did that_. It’s just a little bit more of control that he got back. That he has, now, over Andrew. Over his world.

“I never had a single choice in the matter, you know,” he says, simply. Kyle wonders if by _matter_ , he’s referring to everything—everything, from Kyle’s capture to the claiming, to all the forced sex. “I had no control over the matter, once I laid eyes on you.”

Andrew licks his lips, swaying forward as if to kiss Kyle, and Kyle remember that young kiss, the moonlit kiss. No, he thinks, through a haze. Maybe Andrew didn’t have a choice, after all. It hadn’t been Inferno that Aftershock was after. It was just Kyle. He's—

"I'm yours," Andrew says. 

"Yes," Kyle says. "I know." 

—just Kyle's. 

**Author's Note:**

> the_rck, you had such great prompts, and I only wish I could have done more of them more justice. There were many things I wanted to include in this story for you, but alas, I'm afraid I might have been overly ambitious. Thank you for reading, nonetheless, and I hope you enjoyed it for what it is. <3


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